


Stained Glass

by SgtGraves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Castiel with wings, Churches & Cathedrals, Classical Music, F/M, Germany, Music, Phantom - Freeform, Stained Glass, Stalker, angel - Freeform, black feathers, cas with wings, church, organ music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtGraves/pseuds/SgtGraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaulted ceilings and dark corners. The haunting hymns played on aged pipes. Stalkers and angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feathers

It was cold inside the cathedral but I wasn't exactly surprised. Old buildings had a way of hanging on stubbornly to damp and cold and interesting smells. It's what made them so venerable. I loved it. The choir loft door was locked and I had to creatively juggle the items in my arms to manage opening the door with the new set of keys. Smiling eagerly to myself, I hoisted my heavy book bag and hauled myself up the steep stairway. It squeaked and complained under foot and I muttered back in response.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I found the lights and surveyed my new "work space".

The choir loft of any church is basically an indoor balcony, longer in length than in width, with one long side against the back of the church and the other, protected with railing, overlooking the interior of the church. The idea behind this quirk of construction lies in modesty. Choirs and musicians can be heard but not seen by the congregation, recalling the "Choir of Heavenly Hosts" effect, without distracting from the service itself.

This choir loft was much like any other I had been in. Music stands, neat shelves full of hymnals, folding chairs ordered in rows on risers and extra lights dangling down on wires from the rafters. And of course, the Organ. I dumped my arm load of books and supplies on the nearest flat surface, wincing as a few books slid to the floor with a thump that echoed dully throughout the vaulted space. Unable to resist, I left the books to lay there and approached the console.

I dragged my fingers across the bench, feeling the smooth wood's cool surface, taking in the instrument. The pipes. The console. I was a kid in a candy store, a nerd in a library, a hacker at her computer. Hours of practice, years of performances, yards and yards of different keyboards and still the fascination had a hold on me. There was nothing more tantalizing than an unfamiliar organ. How do you sound? Are your keys somber and weighty or light and quick? My fingers itched to unravel it's secrets.

Like most organs, the console was placed in such a way that when I was seated on the bench facing the key board, I faced the risers and the back of the church. The problem of not being able to see what was going on behind me during a service was remedied with a small circular mirror placed at eye level to my right. The mirror was cracked but I could still see the alter and podium clearly enough. Beside the mirror was a coffee mug decorated excessively with music notes and containing a few chewed pencils.

I took all this in as I sat on the dark wood bench. Reverently, I unlocked the cover and rolled it back. I inhaled deeply. Four ranks of keyboards and close to a hundred different stops and all of this was mine to use. Mesmerized, I switched the music rack lamp on and settled into the musical space.

Sometime later I resurfaced. The stained glass windows told me it was dark outside but I had no idea of the actual time. The only time I had stepped off the bench had been to retrieve books and my water bottle and once to use the facilities. That had been around 6:00pm and what felt like a while ago. I sighed, frustrated that I had lost track of time and now had to wonder around a somewhat unfamiliar city at night, and because I secretly didn't want to leave at all.

I had been marvelously lucky. This Organ had just been newly rebuilt within the last 5 years and the acoustics in the cathedral were second to none. I stretched and yawned and then froze. In the little cracked mirror I had seen a flicker of movement. I spun around on the bench, hair whipping into my eyes. Nothing. There was nothing behind me but the railing. I stood and tottered towards the edge on stiff legs and peered out. The numerous statues in alcoves on the walls were illuminated by overhead recessed lighting and candles flickered from the alter and from other places around the church. There were plenty of eyes, but none belonging to the living. I was alone. This comforted me only slightly and I turned back to the console to gather my things.

Calm settled back in when I had my books, keys, and water bottle safely stowed. It was when I straightened and pulled the console's hood back down into place that I noticed the difference. The pencil-filled mug had one extra item. Or at least I hadn't noticed it before. Sticking out from among the gnarred pencils was one long, black feather.


	2. Gargoyles

"Guten tag!" A man's voice said. I jumped so violently my bag's strap slipped off my shoulder and banged loudly on the stairs. I looked up, cringing as like the night before, the noise echoed around the cathedral. A head had appeared at the top of the stairs. A smiling head.

"Oh, uh, good afternoon." And then I cringed again. I knew perfect German, of course, but the English had slipped out reflexively. "Erm, guten tag."

"Ah, here, let me help you." The man said, speaking in English and bounding down the stairs. He was tall and had a messy head of brown hair. Stooping, he hefted my bag and gave me a warm welcoming smile. "You must be my replacement."

"I, oh, yes Hi, I'm Catherine Stagg." I shook his hand, smiling as best I could. "Thank you."

"I imagined you'd be older. By the looks of your resume, I thought you'd be ages old." I laughed in response as we climbed the stairs, too tired to really be sure of how to take his words.

I hadn't made it to my apartment until 2:00 am. I had left the cathedral somewhere around midnight and proceeded to get woefully lost driving around the German city of Hamburg. Not bothering to take anything in, I'd zombie walked directly to my bed and slept until late afternoon. Now I was back at the Church, showered and somewhat put together.

I looked closer at the man. He had an unfortunate coloring, somewhere between orange sherbet ice-cream and mayonnaise and his body and limbs had an unused softness about them which somehow gave off an immature vibe. He seemed a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-30's but I sensed he hadn't gotten out much.

"I'm Damion Goyle, by the way, the organist here, oh wait no, the former organist." He continued to speak as I set my organ shoes next to the bench and irritated, noted the open organ console. I felt suddenly protective of my space. "Goyle like Gargoyle, though hopefully I'm a little better looking than one." He laughed

"I'm sorry, what?" I said, perhaps a little too sharply, but keeping up with his words was proving hard.

"Oh, I just, um, your bag" He moved to stand beside me in front of the organ and placed my bag on the bench. "ooooh I know that look, you're just dying to play him, aren't you? Here." He dug in his pocket and held out the keys that unlocked the cover. "I was just saying my goodbyes, he's all yours now."

"Oh, I've already been given a set of keys." I jangled mine in my pocket. "He?"

Goyle nodded and put his keys back then shrugged "It's nothing official, no name or anything, 'he' just seems…you know, appropriate."

I knew musicians had a tendency to assign genders and even names to their instruments but I had never personally felt the need.

"Well anyway, I'll leave you to get acquainted. The lights are over there," He pointed to the wall by the stairway. I didn't feel like telling him I'd found them yesterday. "And that key ring has the keys to the choir loft door. If there's anything else you need just, um, here" He pulled out his wallet and dug out a business card. "Just give me a call." A shy smile spread across his face. " Maybe we can get together for coffee sometime, talk about the job and what not" Goyle looked hopeful. I smiled then. I didn't have a single friend in this country, maybe it would be nice.

"Yeah, I'd really like that." I took his card, wrote my number on the back, and returned it to him. "I don't really text but I'm usually good at returning calls."

Goyle grinned widely. "I can handle that." He backed towards the exit "I'll give you a ring then, Stagg. Oh, I almost forgot." He came back and scooped up the music notes mug with a sheepish grin. "Family, if they know you're into music you get endlessly bombarded with this type of stuff. But, I'm sure you know."

I nodded and smiled, not trusting myself to speak. After discovering it, I had gently tucked the feather into my bag the night before. I felt somewhat guilty now, watching Goyle holding the mug, because maybe I had been wrong. Maybe the feather had been there the whole time. I wasn't exactly famous for my observation skills. But Goyle didn't ask after it so I continued to say nothing.

"Well, I'll see you around." He smiled, giving me a wave. "Auf Wiedersehen."

I heard the stairs protest and he was gone.

A few hours later, I opened my bag to grab another book, and pulled out the feather instead. I examined it closely for the first time. It was about the length of my hand, with a delicate gray vane. It's wasn't just black, like I'd originally noticed, but actually a deep blue that faded to black around the edges. I ran my finger up the edge, feeling its flexibility and gentle strength.

"Where did you come from?" I asked it. I hadn't been in Germany long, but I hadn't seen much in the way of avian variety. I shrugged and set the feather by the lamp.

Back to the old grind. Organ grind. Organ grinder? I chuckled to myself then banged my head on the music rest, God I was so lame. I really needed to find someone to friend with.

Friends…I wondered how long it would take for Goyle to contact me about meeting up. I had to admit I wasn't getting any other offers. Cooping myself up in a choir loft for hours on end really did wonders for my social life. Even back in the states I only had a handful of friends who understood my weird tendencies. You're like the phantom of the opera was the usual tease. Minus the mask. I chuckled again then groaned. Ok, soon I'll officially start directing rehearsals and playing for services full time. That would surely introduce people into my very limited circle. Maybe I should walk down to that bar on the corner this evening…

My phone rang in my purse, bursting my thought bubble.

"Damn." I almost never forgot to turn my phone to silent so of course the one time I did it would have to ring.

"sorry, sorry, sorry." I whispered to the empty building as I dug for my device. "speak of the devil" I knew it had to be Goyle, I rarely got calls, especially after the move. Everyone I regularly spoke with was probably sleeping over in America.

"Dies ist Stagg." I answered in my professional voice.

"Hallo Catherine. How are you? Bad time? Are you still in the church, I bet you are." Yep, I was right, it was Goyle.

"Oh, hi. No, its fine, I was taking a break." I turned towards the back of the church, trying to keep my voice soft.

"I knew it. Still there, such a hard worker! I like that."

I smiled, though a little uncomfortable with the praise. "I guess, so, what can I do for you?"

"Oh right, well I was wondering if you'd thought about coffee? Not right now, obviously, but maybe tomorrow? I know this really great place just up the street from the church, I could meet you there or at your place, wherever, God, I'm word vomiting, please stop me." He laughed uncertainly.

"Yeah, sure, tomorrow would be great, I start rehearsals in the afternoon but before that would be fine."

"Awesome sauce. Around 11:00?"

"Perfekt"

"OK cool! I'll see you then, I'll look forward to it"

We said our good byes and clicked off.

I hit the indicator on my phone and created a new contact to store Goyle's number.

God, what had he said his first name was? I couldn't for the life of me remember. I found myself looking to the wooden rafters for inspiration.

"ooh" a stroke of genius hit me " I'm going straight to hell." Giggling, I typed "Gar" in the first name space. It's the little things that keep me happy. Saving the contact as Gar Goyle, I internally applauded my wit and switched my phone to silent.

I paused, something felt off. Like a hair inside my shirt or a static radio. I looked around me, and then back up to the rafters. The cloudy weather didn't allow much light to come in through the windows and I hadn't bothered turning the lights on when I'd come in earlier. Well, aside from the music stand lamp on the organ, but that wasn't powerful enough to illuminate the rafters I was scrutinizing. Had I imagined it? No! There, the shadows flickered a little, moving like a breeze had stirred them. Like dark, shifting wings. I stood still looking intently at the place I'd seen the flicker but couldn't make anything out. After a few minutes I lost interest. Whatever it was, it was gone.

I checked the time on my phone, determined not to stay up so late tonight. I could practice more, but I had a ton of unpacking to do. I sighed and began gathering my books. Organ locked and books in bag, I turned to go, but stopped, glancing again at the beams overhead. I couldn't make out anything more. But yet…I shrugged and left the loft.


	3. Phantoms

"Do birds ever get in the rafters?"

We were sitting outside the Eckstein Kaffee and bakery, finishing off the last sips of coffee. I had thought it over a little, ok a lot, and late last night I'd figured out an explanation. If birds could get into the church, the feather I'd found and the shadow wings I had seen would have a definite, non-threatening origin.

"Birds? Not that I've heard. There was this one time a squirrel got in and built a nest in the wall behind the alter. It took them forever to catch the little bugger. Traps, bait, nothing could catch it. But then the scratching stopped, no one found a body and no one missed him. Must have gotten annoyed by my playing and moved out" Goyle laughed. I grinned and nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

I shifted on the metal chair. "Oh, I've just though I heard wings or something. Maybe Mr. Squirrel's back and actually likes my playing." I tried to laugh but Goyle had a strange look on his face.

"What?"

"Well well, maybe you've drawn out our shadowy friend." Goyle said, attempting a mysterious air.

"Your what?"

"Not mine, the Cathedrals, it's haunted. Or that's the story anyway."

"Haunted, as in, ghosts?"

"Well, not really. They say it's more like a phantom, you know, more solid, I guess. I didn't see him or I really don't believe in him, but some of the past music directors have had strange things happen."

I cocked an eyebrow, very interested but trying to hide it. "Strange?"

Goyle shrugged, "Yeah if you believe in that type of stuff."

"Like, what type of stuff?"

"Oh, music missing, lights shutting off which no explanation, noises, also with no explanation, creepy feelings of being watched." Goyle wiggled his fingers at me. "You know, the typical ghost slash haunting stuff."

I nodded, an old cathedral was bound to have stories of hauntings. But none of those sounded like my experience with the feather,

"Oh, now that I think about it, one of the really old stories from one of the first directors in like the 60's used to say he'd sit and hear someone humming along when he'd play, especially while he was playing Franck. But Franck is my favorite and I played him all up and down but never heard anything close to humming, so believe in the phantom if you want to."

Shortly after that we said our goodbyes. I thanked Goyle for the coffee and we separated, each going to our own afternoon business.

The choir rehearsal was less about music and more about welcoming me as the new music director. I can't say I didn't expect as much. I was given arm loads of baked goods and phone numbers with the instructions to call if I needed anything whatsoever-on-the-face-of-the-earth. The choir practice room was equipped with a decent upright piano and a small electric organ that paled in comparison to the grandeur of the one in the loft, but it sufficed for rough practices. The group was primarily older but there were a few less seasoned faces and since they'd been singing together for the better part of 3 decades, they blended somewhat well. I did have some work to do with them on timing and pitches, but that was basic choir issues. By the end of the practice, I felt I had a good grasp of the talent in the choir and began planning what to start working on for the upcoming liturgical season.

It was sometime past 7:00 pm when I locked the practice room door, arms burdened with goodies and as always, books. I tromped up the loft stairs and deposited the haul on a chair.

I stood for a moment, thinking back over my day.

Thinking back to what Goyle had told me…

Thoughtfully, I turned to the shelves along the side wall and pulled one of the blue bound books from its place. I sat on the organ bench a flipped though the book until I found the piece I hadn't played in a while, not since my first years in music school.

I pulled the proper stops out, set my registrations, took a deep breath, and began.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking, but I played the familiar piece without holding back. I dissolved into the melody, flowed over the staff and became the notes on the page, then let them rise over me and show me how to swim in the sound. Just right, just enough, no, now more expression, ah, and now less. Yes, yes that's…perfect.

With the final notes echoing in the cathedral, I allowed myself to come back into the room, back into reality. And as I did, I felt vaguely the presence of another. Felt that something or someone else was also stirring in the chilly air. I slowly swiveled on my bench and looked all around me. Of course, no one was there. I could be imagining it all, thinking I feel the presence because it's what Goyle and I discussed only just that morning. But I smiled. If there was a phantom, at least they had good taste in music.

I left a tin of peanut butter cookies on the chair when I departed for the evening.

Just in case.

When I opened the door to my small apartment, something was wrong.

The apartment building was one of those old factory houses that'd been given a face lift and refrigerators and been rubber stamped decent for human occupation. Moving over the ocean made house hunting hard to say the least. I had rented this address purely for its proximity to the cathedral and because it came furnished. I wasn't exactly impressed when I'd started moving in and discovered that, although crisp on the outside, it was put together rather cheaply. I was already planning on looking for another place soon and because of that, I really hadn't bothered unpacking.

Which is why I noticed so distinctly the difference in my apartment.

A few of the boxes had been opened. Ones I knew I hadn't because they only contained kitchen items and extra bedding. I froze. The door had been locked. The windows facing the street didn't open (another hit against this apartment) and my alarm system was still set. It was beeping at me now. I wondered if I should let it sound and bring the cops down in all their might, but I typed the number in and turned it to the "home" setting. I walked through the apartment, flipping on all the lights as I went, armed with a small can of pepper spray from my purse. Closets, showers, under beds and behind curtains turned out nothing.

No one was there. And nothing else was out of place.

I breathed again, collapsing on the couch.

The sudden sense of violation of space hit me. The thought of someone entering my space, the closest thing I had to a home in this country, was distinctly disturbing. And that someone coming unknown and uninvited…it left the space dirty somehow, tainted by bad will.

I wanted to call someone, to hear a human voice that could remind me I was alright. But the depressing truth was there wasn't anyone for me to call. Family and friends where too far away and I didn't know anyone here well enough to call at this hour. Loneliness slithered into my chest.

I dragged the blanket off the back of the sofa and curled into a tight ball, wrapping deeper in on myself. Eventually, when the worst had pasted, I fell asleep there, with all the lights on in the apartment.


	4. Shadows

Darkness. Smooth inky blackness pooled in velvety puddles and splashed up in dark shadows. And I was one of them. I knew the darkness, knew where to stand, knew where it would hide me and make me invisible. My dark clothes made it even easier to slip down the street and into the alley unnoticed. Nimbly, just like my shadow friends that followed me, I leapt and grabbed the bottom rung of the fire escape. It creaked but the wind was blowing, and wind made things that couldn't talk speak volumes. Silently, just like I'd practiced, I crept up the stairs until I was in the position that made me a shadow, and gave me a view directly into her living room.

All the lights were on in the little apartment across the street from my position. I could see her moving through the rooms, batting at curtains and looking under things.

Yes, I had made a mistake. I hadn't meant to leave any trace of my visit to her home. The window just off the bathroom had been stiff and noisy to open but I'd easily slipped in and powered the alarm down. Then I'd stood, breathing in her air. There was something so sacred about a person's home - like some part of them still moved in the room even when they weren't there. I could see her sparse but distinct traces of daily activity. A rumbled dish towel over the back of a chair and half a cup of cold coffee on the counter, the slightly mussed blanket hung over the back of the couch, that I had run my hand over, smoothing and feeling how soft and cozy it was. In the bathroom, her toothbrush and toothpaste had been left on the sink. I'd opened her shampoo bottle and inhaled. This is what her shiny red hair must smell like.

I made my mistake by staying too long. I had carefully slit open a few boxes, looking for a proper souvenir when the outer apartment door buzzed open. Time was up. Quickly and silently I'd moved back to the bathroom. That's when I spied it. With daring, I'd stolen across her room and snatched a soft, blue scarf from her open closet.

Now, from my place on the opposite buildings fire escape, I watched her as she scouted her apartment. She must have seen the open boxes and knew I'd, no, someone had been there. I didn't mean to scare her, I never wanted to scare My Catherine. All I wanted was to be in her place, wanted to feel her presence again.

Putting the blue scarf to my face, I breathed in, catching her sent.


End file.
